What Came First, The Music or The Misery
by inkstainedpinky
Summary: AU. Beca Mitchell was a simple soul. All she needed was the vinyl at her fingertips and the sound of the rhythm and beat. Or so she thought. When her girlfriend breaks up with her, Beca is left to ponder what went wrong. Luckily, she has some help…and a whole lot of lists.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters represented in this fiction. They are the property of the creative minds behind the book and film adaptation.

**Rating:** T for now, M for later chapters

**Pairing:** Beca/Chloe

**Summary:** AU. Beca Mitchell was a simple soul. All she needed was the vinyl at her fingertips and the sound of the rhythm and beat. Or so she thought. When her girlfriend breaks up with her, Beca is left to ponder what went wrong. Luckily, she has some help…and a whole lot of lists.

_Alright, everyone! Here we are again. As CJ and I mentioned before, this is a very different story from Stone Hard, but we hope you guys like it. If you've seen the film High Fidelity, this fic has a similar premise. It is a Bechloe, but our girls have a long journey ahead of them._

_We hope you enjoy, and without further ado..._

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**WHAT CAME FIRST, THE MUSIC OR THE MISERY**

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CHAPTER 1

_There's something to be said about a good woman. Not just a good woman, but a woman who has such an impact on a person that she is forever immortalized in song._

_ Think about it for a second._

_ Artists emote through music and lyrics. They pour semblance of their souls into a track that they hope will connect to the masses. What's more universal than love? What makes you feel more than love?_

_ And, of course, nothing makes a person feel more in the spectrum of love than heartbreak. Misery. Despair._

_ No one is exempt from heartbreak. It's just as universal as love. And some of the best tracks that have stood the test of time were those inspired by a woman. Eric Clapton's "Layla" is personified in George Harrison's wife Pattie Boyd, Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" was an ode to Caroline Kennedy, and, yes, there was actually a Sharona for The Knacks to call theirs – she's now a realtor in Los Angeles._

_And, of course, there's the eponymous Jane whose presence in Adam Levine's life spawned an entire album._

_ It's gotta be some kind of woman to prompt such visceral emotion – good or bad – from a person to commit those feelings to song. Unfortunately, there is a universal truth when facing a ballad inspired by a woman, even a good woman:_

No one writes love songs about the ones that come easy.

xxx-xxx-xxx

There was a lot to like about being a producer. In some ways, a producer had even more creative control than the artist. The producer was the one who made the decision towards the direction of the track and album. The producer was the manipulator of sound and rhythm. The artist may receive the glory, but the producer was the one who constructed the path. One could liken the role of a music producer to a puppeteer, pulling the strings the make the marionette dance.

Maybe it was the need for control that chased Beca Mitchell behind the scenes when it came to music. She had a good voice, had a sense of rhythm, and a strong stage presence that would have propelled her to stardom, but none of that came to fruition. Instead, she stayed in the booth, remaining the musical genius behind the latest albums and tracks.

Gold Monarch Records was one of the top record labels in the country, and Beca had garnered the reputation as being tough to work with. Not in the sense that she was difficult, but in the sense that she pushed and challenged her artists. Mediocrity and laziness were not tolerated in Beca Mitchell's presence, and that nugget of wisdom had traveled through the industry, warning away the artists who were looking to ride the coattails of the Mitchell name to exposure. Beca's tenacity and diligence were appreciated by the ones who wanted to work for their success, and it had made her the most sought-after in the business.

Currently, Beca stood behind the glass in the sound room, shoulders hunched over her ears, fists braced on the mixing board. Her eyebrows were drawn together over a pair of dark navy eyes, mouth pinched in a mild scowl.

In the booth, Beca's given artist, a rising star, self-styled as Lil' Tyke, was crooning out a tune of Beca's creation. He was a young buck, full of bluster and an arrogance his talent had yet to catch up to. The young man had potential, anyone could see that fact. He had the look, the charisma, and the swagger necessary to survive in the shark-infested waters of the music industry. He was certainly a marketable prospect…but he hadn't quite realized where his caliber of talent fell in comparison to the greater musical spectrum.

Presently, Beca was tasked with making sure the talent he _did_ have equated to at least one hit. While Lil' Tyke certainly had tools Beca could work with to push forward a passable hit, his ambition was assuming a range vastly beyond his capability. Prior to recording, he had asserted claims his voice had yet to deliver. Yet as the takes proceeded, the voice he had declared would reach the note he had boasted would be "Girl, no problem" was not living up to his conceited proclamations. And as Lil Tyke failed for the umpteenth time to produce a sound even comparable to the transcribed note, Beca's bearing and demeanor had gotten progressively more irritated.

The engineers around her inched their chairs away from the tiny brunette. They knew that look, that posture.

Beca Mitchell was not happy.

And when Beca Mitchell wasn't happy, the arm of her wrath reached long, forceful, and indiscriminate.

Her jaw ticked, stance tensing even further as they cut the tape. Lil' Tyke crossed his arms, leaning back in satisfaction as his crew behind him whooped it up. He turned to Beca and hitched his chin for her opinion.

"Awesome, right?"

Beca's head rotated slowly to the right, then to the left. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back.

"No," she answered simply.

It was clear he wasn't used to anyone doing anything but singing his praises. Beca likened his expression to something she would have seen if she had smacked him upside the head with a two-by-four. "What?"

"No," Beca repeated. "As in negative," she clarified. "As in I disagree."

"Wait, are you serious?"

Beca looked unimpressed, the expression adorning her face answer enough. An eyebrow arched upward in contention. "Would you like me to tell you that it was good?"

Tyke spread his arms, shaking his head slightly. "Well, yeah."

The second eyebrow ascended to join the first. "I'd be lying."

Beca let that sink in for a long time before she spoke again, her stare never wavering from the incredulous expression Lil' Tyke sported from inside the booth. "When you told me you were going for that note, it was with the underlying assumption that you were actually capable of reaching it," she drawled. "By my count, we've done seven different takes, and you still haven't done so." She leaned forward again, stare intense and full of resolve. "So, why don't you stop wasting my time and my tape and let's find a way to make the same impact but in a manner you can actually sing."

"I _can_ sing it," Tyke insisted.

"Seven takes says otherwise," Beca countered. Her head tilted, mouth set in a pensive frown as he continued to argue with her. She reached over pressing a button, a clear note booming through the speakers, drowning out Tyke's protest. "That's the note I'm looking for." She cued up a sound bite and pressed another button. What came through was certainly a note that could be categorized on a scale…yet couldn't even be compared to the first sound. In fact, it made most people in the studio flinch.

"That's what you just sang." Beca's stare bore into Tyke's. He shifted under her scrutiny. Beca's head hitched to the equipment. "Tape doesn't lie."

She could see Tyke's jaw tense, and he looked away in an attempt to regain his bravado.

Beca crossed her arms. "Look, man, I'm not here to entertain your delusions of grandeur. I'm here to make a quality record. If you can't hit the note, we're not putting it in there, simple as that. Another producer might help you along and manipulate your voice to maintain the illusion, but I'm not that producer. Auto-Tune has no place in this booth. I'm not going to sacrifice my musical integrity to feed your ego."

She could see him clench his jaw, averting his eyes. It was like a shark smelling blood in the water and inching forward for the kill. She knew she had him by the scruff of his neck, and she was looking to tighten her grip and drive the dagger home.

"Say we do a little music magic. Say you miraculously hit the note here," she posed. "People marvel at your vocal gymnastics. You're deemed a musical stud." Beca's eyes glittered dangerously. "And then you hit the live show, millions of people watching, waiting for you to nail the note and leave them breathless in awe…and you don't deliver. What's supposed to be your shining moment, your vocal climax falls flat, splutters, and dies."

Tyke swallowed hard, dropping his head, but not before Beca caught the flash of fear skating through his gaze. She had hit a nerve, as she knew she would. Nothing terrified a performer more than the idea that they couldn't deliver during a live performance.

Beca leaned forward, eyes narrowing, continuing to pour it on, solidifying her point. "You're exposed, laid bare. There's no running, no hiding. People start speculating, wondering how you can hit the note in the booth, but not on stage when it _really_ matters, when you're at your purest form vocally. Are you a fraud? Are you a Milli Vanilli? The whispers turn to shouts, turn to roars. They start peppering you with questions, demanding answers. What are you going to say then? _Can_ you say anything?"

Beca let the notion linger, and it was clear how she became such an influential figure amidst her peers as her posture and expression spoke volumes, never wavering in their strength and tenacity. She stood tall as she issued her final ultimatum.

"The way I see it you've got a choice. Find a way to give me something I can work with or get the hell out of my studio."

And that was Beca Mitchell at her finest.

xxx-xxx-xxx

In the end, he did what she asked. They always did. It was either acquiesce or fire her. While seemingly a simple decision, it was clear Lil' Tyke was unwilling risk the wrath of his business team. Detaching Beca Mitchell's name from any project, regardless of who was walking away, was career suicide for an artist. And Lil' Tyke certainly wasn't established enough to be able to recoup from that sort of hit to his reputation. Beca, on the other hand, could easily replace Lil' Tyke with a number of more prominent artists that promised an even greater return for her services. It was something she relished, that little amount of autonomy to be able to work with artists who truly bought into her organic, raw direction of music.

Finally alone, free from Tyke and his entourage, the suits, and the rest of the staff, Beca reclined back in her chair, her eyes focused on the recording booth. Her fingers cupped her chin as her stare seemed to look although she certainly didn't see. She was lost in thought, pensive and slightly melancholic as she leaned back in her cushy chair, looking at the opulence she was surrounded by. Beca glanced up as her manager sidled into the room, a wry smile on her stunning features.

Elena Holloway was the essence of grace and elegance, an interesting physical foil to her scruffy, gruff client. She represented the perfect complement to Beca in many ways. She softened the hard edges of the prickly, brusque producer, providing the charming, charismatic counterpoint when faced with the task of 'selling' Beca to potential buyers. Often Beca's talent spoke for itself, but not many people understood that working with Beca's talent also meant working with Beca…which sometimes didn't provide as much of a tantalizing option. Elena provided the professional, calming influence to Beca's fiery disposition.

Elena propped herself on the desk, legs crossing primly. Not for the first time, Beca followed the long, tanned lines, entertaining the lustful thoughts that flickered through her mind. Shaking her head to clear the idle musings, she smirked up at her manager.

"Nice of you to join me," she drawled. "Don't know how good of company I'll be."

Elena chuckled. "You're at your best when you're not talking, but I get that's wishful thinking on my part."

"Ha. Ha," Beca deadpanned.

Elena smiled, dark brown eyes twinkling as her dimpled, roguish grin lit up her features. "You were rough on him," she remarked, flicking her wave of raven hair over her shoulder. "I thought he was gonna cry."

Beca smirked. "That would have been awesome."

Elena rolled her eyes. She didn't doubt Beca would have found humor in the predicament. "You're evil."

Beca laughed. "No. I just have don't have patience for that sort of thing. No one is going to be nice to you in this business. Between the critics that will tear apart the record you've put your heart and soul into, the corporate pundits who only look at the numbers, and the Joe Schmoes who can't tell the difference between a large-diaphragm true condenser microphone and a Mr. Mike yet find it perfectly appropriate to presume they have the credentials and the wherewithal to accurately analyze your album…" Beca shrugged. "It's a tough world out there. Anyone with a pen and paper or a phone or a keyboard can say whatever they want to and put it out there for anyone with access to the Internet to see."

"So you took it upon yourself to toughen him up?" Elena surmised.

"No," Beca countered. "I just didn't particularly like him and wanted to be mean." As Elena rolled her eyes, Beca continued. "But, he also needed a reality check. He can't have thin skin, and the people who are going to be the toughest on you are the people with the purse strings. The bottom line is if you can't make them their money, they have no use for you."

Elena eyed Beca closely. There was a gravity to her tone, one that spoke volumes to her intent. Elena cocked her head. "That sounds morbid."

Beca scoffed. "It's the truth. And it's something I battle every day." She lofted her head, chin tilting in defiance. "I'm never going to give them a chance to cut me loose," she vowed. "If it ever comes to that I'm going to be the one to walk away, and I'm going to do it with a lot of zeroes in my bank account."

"Sounds like you're in this for the money," Elena teased.

Beca shrugged blithely. "Maybe I am." She smirked sardonically. "I'd be lying if I told you my intentions were purely altruistic. I love music, but I love what music can do for me a hell of a lot more than what I can do for it."

"Top five reasons I'm in the music industry," Beca lofted her hand, fingers spread wide as she ticked off her points. "One, the money. I make a fuckton of cash. Two, the power. The artist does what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. Three, the fame. It is very cool to have fans and other famous people as fans. Four, the perks. Table at a five-star restaurant? Done. And five, I'm damned good at what I do." Beca smirked, shrugging sardonically. "The end."

Elena chuckled. "You and your lists."

"Lists are awesome," Beca proclaimed. "Neat and succinct. What's not to like?"

Elena inclined her head. "So you're in it for the fame and fortune," she surmised.

"Gotta pay the bills somehow," Beca chided. "May as well be with something at least somewhat pleasurable."

Elena nodded her concurrence. "Don't we all wish money wasn't an issue," she lamented.

Beca chuckled. "Yeah. But it's a necessary evil." She cast a glance around the booth. "I'm not looking to change the world," she mused. "There are people like Macklemore who are using their talent to send a message, to push awareness on a social issue." Beca shrugged. "That's noble, for sure. I wish I had that kind of fire and passion, but I don't. I just make music people want to hear. My audience is the masses."

"Revolution be damned, huh?" Elena stated. "Not looking to rally the troops to the cause?"

"I wish I had that luxury," Beca admitted. "But I've been tasked with making 'fun, marketable music' that's 'designed to sell records and win Grammys'." Beca smirked ruefully. "When that's what I've got to work with…" She trailed off, letting the rest of the statement hang in the air. Beca shrugged. "It is what it is."

Elena's brows drew together. "You sound like you're miserable."

Beca let out a bark of laughter. "I do, don't I?" She shook her head, reclining back in her chair, hands laced behind her neck. "Right? The way I'm talking, it's like this is seriously hard, dismal work." Beca's expression relaxed to a fond smile. "No, I love what I do, I honestly do."

She fell silent, her expression drifting to that pensive lilt, and Elena surveyed her carefully. There seemed to be something right at the tip of Beca's tongue.

"What?" Elena coaxed.

Beca started as though she remembered "I just can't do everything that I _want_ to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm handcuffed," Beca explained. "I can work with whoever I want, but it's limited to the catalogue I'm given. I can create any song I want, but it's gotta fit with the label's image."

Elena cocked her head. "And you're not satisfied by that?"

"It does lack a certain freedom," Beca hedged. "I would have never taken on someone like Tyke if it was up to me."

Elena nodded her head. "So make your own label," she suggested. "Cut yourself free from all of that."

Beca sighed. There was a wistful air to her voice. "Yeah, don't know about that." Her mouth curled wryly. "There's something to be said about a safety net."

Elena acknowledged the implication with a shrug. "Maybe. There's also something to be said about taking a risk."

Beca absorbed that for a long moment.

Elena chuckled. "So we've established you're miserable," she chided. "You've got to have _something_ that makes you happy."

Beca leaned back in her chair, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. I do."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca could understand that there was a lot of opulence in her life. She never had to worry about money, she lived comfortably, and she was currently driving a Mercedes SUV. But pulling up in front of her record store provided her more happiness than many of the materialistic things currently in her possession. The front looked like the marquee of an old theatre, highlighted by the logo of the store in the shape of an old LP record. The name "Throwback Vinyl" blinked at her from its spot and she couldn't help the smile from blooming.

Beca threw open the doors, casting a glance at the shelves of vinyl and CDs that lined the wall. Ascending down the short steps to the main floor, she made her way across Throwback towards her office.

A rotund blonde peered up at her from the bangs in her eyesight, offering out a salutation as she crossed in front of the checkout counter. "Hey, Boss," the self-styled "Fat" Amy greeted in a voice tinged with an Australian accent.

"Amy," Beca returned. Her nose wrinkled as the tones of Baja Men's "Who Let the Dogs Out?" registered in her ears. "Get that shit off my speakers," she ordered, gesturing vaguely around the room. "We're a classy establishment!"

"No love for the 90s, eh?" Amy chided, obliging her boss and heading towards the stereo system.

"No love for one-hit wonders whose contribution to popular music involved barking like a canine in reference to ugly women," Beca answered blithely.

Her second employee, Jesse Swanson poked his head out from the storage room at the sound of her voice, a clipboard and pen cradled in his hands. Immediately, he made a beeline to Beca. "Hey, Boss."

Beca indulged him with a smile. "Hey, Jess."

He flipped to a page in the notepad clamped over the inventory sheet, reading from a list. "Okay, so 'Italian Stallion', 'Plastics', 'Human-Cyborg Relations', and 'The Dueling Cavaliers'." He looked to Beca for her opinion.

"No," she answered promptly.

Jesse stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open before he gathered his wits, scurrying after her. "What? Why not?"

It was a long-standing routine between them. Jesse would accost Beca every week to run potential band names by her, wanting the producer's opinion on the different ideas running through his head.

"Because they're lame," Beca returned. "None of those band names would look good on an album."

"Some of the greatest band names and stage names lend reference to songs the performers found inspiration in!" Jesse insisted, following her through the store. "Lady Gaga's stage name was inspired by Queen's 'Radio Ga Ga'; The Killers derive their name from the fictional band in the music video for the New Order's song 'Crystal'; pop punk band All Time Low found their name from a New Found Glory song – 'Head On Collision' if you didn't know…" Jesse gulped as Beca's stare pierced through him at the implication. "But…of course you _knew_…" He let out a stuttering chuckle, clearing his throat and gesturing to his pad. "These names are homages to some of the greatest scored films of all time!"

Beca groaned, holding up a hand to stop him. "Jesse, I hate movies. That's not helping your case." She leveled a significant look his direction. "Remember, this is the name your fans are _forever_ going to associate with you."

Jesse absorbed that tidbit of information, his eyes dropping down to the possibilities scrawled across the paper. He sighed, hands thrown in the air. "Back to the drawing board," he grumbled, returning to the depths of the store.

"How about back to work?" Beca shouted back over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs to the second story where her office overlooked the main floor. Beca tossed her briefcase on the couch and flopped into her chair. With a hefty sigh, she kicked her feet up on the desk, peering over the railing to her employees below.

This was one of the few things that made her truly happy. She had purchased this shop five years into her career, at a time when she had more money than she knew what to do with. In the age where digital media ruled supreme, her store was a relic. But, against all rational thought, it thrived, consistently turning in profit and ushering in more generations to the forgotten medium of vinyl. Throwback operated as a haven for those who relished in the tangible experience of music, for those people who liked to feel the smooth grooves of vinyl or the shiny contours of a disc.

When she had envisioned this place, she wanted it to be something beyond just a record shop. So, to facilitate that vision, in the corner was a small bar that served coffee and drinks and provided a lounge for sitting around and talking, preferably about music. It was a modern-day salon for the mavens who embraced melodic sound wave in all its form.

It was nice to have this escape away from the studio. It was nice to have place where she could just simply talk bands and tracks with her two insane – yet knowledgeable – employees and other likeminded folks. This was where the images could fade away, and a person could hold an intelligent conversation, no matter what the preferences were, or the perceptions assumed.

One of her regulars, an awesome middle-aged professor of fine arts named Louis, had jokingly called them all music snobs, elitist scholars who relished in putting less educated cretins in the bargain basement dwelling they rightly deserved for not only indulging in crap but also championing it as cornerstones of contemporary melody.

Fuckin' quote it.

And hell yeah.

It was certainly true.

But it spoke of something more. It spoke of a honed appreciation for quality that transcended through different eras beyond the contemporary, something that was often eschewed in favor of marketability.

Beca believed in compartmentalizing.

She knew as a producer for her label that she operated in a very small circumference in the sphere of what she could and couldn't do in terms of sound. It pigeon-holed her from truly experimenting, from truly unleashing the torrent of innovations that resided in the deep, emotional caverns of her brain. That was the stuff that would truly separate herself from everyone else.

Unfortunately, those things didn't fit with the label's image. So, she was forced to exercise the little autonomy she had to bring a diverse experience that screamed of the creativity that was stifled beneath expectations.

Paradox?

Yeah.

Slightly hypocritical?

Probably.

But it was survival, in a manner of speaking.

…At least for now.

She was shaken from her ruminations by another song booming through the store in the form of Katy Perry's "Wide Awake". Beca groaned, tipping her head back.

"C'mon, Amy!" she howled, standing from her chair. "Not Katy Perry, either! That fucking song always gets stuck in my head, and I refuse to spend the rest of the afternoon humming that godforsaken lyric!" She stomped down the stairs, heading to the sound system, and cued up a playlist that better represented the musical tastes of Throwback.

"Seriously," Beca growled. "I hired you because you _exemplified_ musical taste. Don't make me regret that."

Amy backed away from their system, hands held aloft. "Sorry, Little Boss Lady," she apologized. "I was blinded by my ambition and enduring love for Miss Perry who is considered an honorary Tasmanian deity. One of the few with teeth."

Beca shook her head, turning her attention to the monitor and clicking on a song. Within seconds, Imagine Dragons' "Radioactive" thumped through the speakers.

"Bow to my musical superiority," Beca commanded, sweeping her arms out wide as she clambered onto the desk, lording over her minions.

"So…but do you guys, like, _actually_ sell records. Because I gotta tell you, I've never seen anyone actually purchase merchandise from you guys."

Beca glanced up at the voice drifting from the entrance of the store. The first thing she saw was the boobs.

But that was normal considering that was Stacie Conrad's most recognizable feature.

And they entered the room way before the rest of her did.

Beca hopped down to sit on top of the counter as her best friend descended the stairs and strutted onto the floor, long legs quickly traversing the distance between the door and Beca. Stacie greeted her longtime friend with a kiss to the cheek and a flirtatious wave to the smaller brunette's two employees.

"Hey, guys."

Beca rolled her eyes. "Of course we sell records," she differed. "How else do you suppose I've kept this place open for so long?"

Stacie laughed, making her way over to the bar and hopping up onto the counter. Leaning back over the side, she helped herself to a soft drink and a small dish of pasta salad. As she straightened, Beca cocked an eyebrow.

"You gonna pay for that?"

Stacie scoffed, forking a bit of salad into her mouth. "I know the owner," she teased, continuing to eat.

Beca laughed, shaking her head. "Well, if we go belly-up, it'll be because _someone_ never paid for any of her drinks or food."

"Please," Stacie countered. "I've been in your life longer than this store. I take precedence."

Beca snorted, shooting a teasing glance to the tall brunette. "_Please_," she mocked. "The only reason you've been in my life for so long is because you never left. It's hardly a matter of choice."

Stacie finished the pasta salad and her soda, placing the dishes in the bin for dirty plates and cutlery and the empty can in the recycling bin. She strutted over to Beca draping herself over the smaller woman.

"C'mon, Becs," she purred, sexuality oozing from her tone and posture. "It was a matter of you can't quit me."

Beca laughed but didn't deny Stacie's assertion, her arms looping around the other woman's waist. "Hey, hey, hey, Conrad. I'm a taken woman. People could get the wrong idea about us. Besides," she hitched her head to Jesse, his mouth agape at the display. "We might break Swanson."

Stacie giggled "Let him look," she teased. "Might be the most action he'll see in awhile." She winked, blowing a kiss to the awestruck college student.

Beca rolled her eyes fondly, directing her question to her best friend. "Don't you ever work?"

Stacie giggled, sliding off Beca and perching herself beside the producer on the countertop. "Of course I do." She poked Beca's side. "You're just jealous I have awesomely flexible hours."

"'Flexible hours' implies that you actually have an office you return to," Beca remarked. "And you spend almost all of your time here. When was the last time you were even in the building?"

Stacie shrugged. "I stop by for the staff meetings," she defended. "Not my fault I can work from anywhere."

"Hard life," Beca teased. "LA's premiere sex columnist has to tear herself from the torrent of letters and emails from her adoring followers and make an appearance with her lowly brethren."

"It's no cakewalk being the highest rated sex columnist in the state," Stacie lamented with a grin. "Everyone wants their advice from 'Sensual Secrets with Stacie Conrad'."

Beca laughed, nudging the other woman teasingly. "Not me."

Stacie giggled, throwing her head back as she kicked her legs. She leaned in, her voice dropping to that sensual tone Beca knew so well. "That's because you have first-hand experience," she husked.

Beca smirked. "So I do," she concurred. Her smirk softened as she remembered the years she and Stacie dated. It was hot and passionate, fiery when it began. The fire continued to rage in the duration of their relationship, and when it finally dissolved, their breakup was as explosive as the inferno that characterized their time together. Their greater connection, however, came when they had restructured their relationship into a strong, genuine friendship.

"We were good together, but, we're better as friends, huh?"

Stacie's smile froze slightly on her face. It was too quick for Beca to notice. She slung an arm around Beca's shoulders, pressing a kiss to the producer's cheek. "Of course we are."

Beca's eyes met the bright aquamarine of the taller brunette's, and a candid smile curved her lips. Outside of her family, there wasn't anyone she cherished more than Stacie.

The taller brunette glanced over Beca's shoulder and perked up as she spotted a hapless teenager wandering through the front doors. "Oooh!" she squealed. "A newbie!" Her gaze sparkled as she hopped off the counter. "Wanna bet I can make him think I work here?"

Beca slid off the counter, scrambling after her best friend. "Stacie, I swear if you lose this customer…"

Stacie's giggles trailed after the long-legged writer as she scampered off.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca huddled at her desk, hunching over her laptop as she read over one of the many emails overflowing her inbox. Unfortunately, it wasn't one she could ignore. Rubbing her hands over her face, she leaned back in her chair, head lolling back against the seat.

Ten years.

She had been in the business for almost ten years. At eighteen, Beca had arrived in LA a wide-eyed teenager, full of piss and vinegar, with dreams reaching from Georgia all the way to the west coast. Ten years ago, Beca Mitchell knew exactly what she was going to do with her life. She just didn't know how to get there.

She had never been more appreciative of her father than those first couple of months. Dr. Alton Mitchell, beloved professor of English, specializing in Comparative Literature at Barden University, career scholar and literal bookworm, supported his daughter's ambition to take the music industry by storm. Alton agreed to help Beca financially while she got her feet up under her. Conversely, her stepmother had called a couple of favors in and found Beca a few job possibilities that would allow the teenager to pay her dues.

They may have given her the nudge through the door, but Beca had been a student of the school of hard knocks to get to her current position. She was just lucky her parents were there to soften the blows.

Beca glanced over to one of the few pictures adorning her desk. It was a family portrait, taken not too long ago. She remembered the day with a fond smile. The intention had been to take a formal, family photo. In the middle of it, Sheila had thrown up her arms, proclaiming the idea "Complete and utter bollocks" and waved her hand at the photographer to simply keep taking pictures. She then proceeded to pinch her husband on the butt, prompting him to jump with a rather girlish squeak…which then resulted in Beca's older sister doubling over with laughter, Beca starting in surprise, and her younger brother getting tossed from his chair when their father's flailing hand caught him heavily on the shoulder. The result was a candid shot that simply radiated the affection the family held for one another.

Beca leaned back in her chair, eyes lofted to the ceiling. It was hard to have the family so spread out. Her father and stepmother were in Georgia during the school year while Alton conducted his classes at Barden. They came down to LA for the summers, but that seemed to be such little time to spend with her parents. Her sister lived and worked in LA as an editor for a prestigious publishing company, but between her busy schedule and trying to plan a wedding, Maggie was stretched a bit thin. And, of course, her younger brother Dillon was too busy being his university's star quarterback to think about anything other than football or school.

For some reason, today was emotionally exhausting. Maybe it would be alright to doze for a bit. She closed her eyes, shifting to find a comfortable spot…

…Only to bolt upright as the sharp ring of her office phone pierced through her silence. Snatching up the handset, she righted herself, speaking into the receiver.

"Throwback Vinyl, this is Beca."

"You're too good to answer your phone now?" The voice on the other end chided, humor clear in the tone despite the words.

Beca frowned. "Huh?"

"I've called your cell phone twice!"

Beca scrambled for her phone, pulling it out of a pocket in her jacket where it was slung over her chair. Sure enough, there were a few missed calls from various family members. She tilted the device to the side and cringed when a strip of red greeted her. She thumbed the switch, taking into her handset. "Aw, crap. Sorry, Dad. I was in the studio this morning and put it on silent."

Dr. Alton Mitchell chuckled. When trying to contact Beca, it was always a prudent decision to try all avenues of communication. It was not an uncommon occurrence that she failed to answer one of her many devices.

"Not surprising, Bec," he drawled. "It's why I called the store."

"Yeah, yeah," Beca chided. "So, what's up, Dad?"

"Unfortunately, your sister doesn't quite have the patience or fortitude to exhaust all avenues the way I do," Alton remarked. "She's been trying to get a hold of you for hours. She called me in a panic thinking you had been abducted by the mafia or something equally tragic."

Beca sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. It was just like her older sister to immediately jump to that conclusion…as overly dramatic as it appeared. "Maggie needs to chill before she pops a brain vessel."

Alton laughed his agreement. "Well, she _is_ trying to plan a wedding, but I honestly have no idea where that high strung personality came from," he admitted. "Just a warning, she probably assumed the worst and is on her way to the store to check up on you. You might want to take her out to lunch to ease her worries."

Beca huffed. "Of course she is." Beca rolled her eyes. "Noted."

"Speaking of erstwhile siblings," Alton continued. "I'm sure she also dragged your brother with her."

Beca groaned, scrunching a hand through her hair. Awesome. Just what she needed. Her lunkhead – albeit adorable and charmingly goofy – little brother around to irritate the ever-loving shit out of her. "Doesn't he have practice or something? Doesn't some meaty lineman have designs to knock him flat on his back for fun?"

Alton chuckled. "Sorry, champ. They're taking a break before fall camp starts." There was a rustling on the other end of the line. "Hang on. Sheila wants to talk to you."

"Beca?"

Beca grinned. "Stepmonster," she drawled, utilizing the affectionate nickname for her father's second wife.

Sheila Mitchell chuckled, her rich British accent making the sound all the more pleasing to the ear. "Oh, darling, it's not monsters this week," she corrected, the smirk clear in her voice. "Aliens actually."

Beca relaxed into her chair. Her father's second wife never failed to make her smile. A prosthetic makeup artist, Sheila had an endless supply of creative energy and innovative ideas when it came to artistic expression, and she often served as a sounding board when Beca was stuck in her own ventures.

"Anything gruesome?"

"Naturally," Sheila quipped. "You know that's my specialty." She laughed. "Anyway, darling, I did have a teensey-weensey favor to ask of you…"

Beca groaned. "Sheila, c'mon," she grunted. "I'm not going to listen to your cousin's daughter's best friend's boyfriend's demo because you think he's a promising young talent. I trust your judgment, but the label already has me in a chokehold."

"Flattering, Beca, but I was actually wondering if you could book a couple of plane tickets for me and your father. Our anniversary is coming up, and I wanted to surprise him. I just didn't want him to find out when he looks at a bank account statement or a credit card statement."

Beca chuckled. "You got it, Sheila. That I can certainly do."

"Alright then. I will text you the details soon." Sheila paused before venturing forward with her next question. "How are you, darling?"

Beca could hear the underlying question in Sheila's tone, and she paused before answering, knowing that there wasn't much she could mask from her stepmother. "One day at a time," she answered.

This time it was Sheila who paused. She hummed, a clear sign of her dissent.

Beca knew that tone and huffed out a sigh, throwing her head back. "C'mon, Sheila," she groaned.

Sheila mirrored Beca's sigh, the manner slightly more placating than her stepdaughter's. "Alright, alright, darling. I won't push. But don't think I'm dropping this for long."

"I expect nothing less."

Sheila chuckled. "Alright, baby. Lots of love."

"Bye, Momma Monster," Beca returned. She waited a moment as Sheila passed the phone to her husband. Alton's voice came back over the speaker. "Becs. Everything okay?"

"Everything is everything, Dad," Beca hedged.

Alton sighed, catching the same hesitation as his wife. Still, he also knew better than to push. That was Sheila's arena. "Alright, champ. I love you."

"Love you, Dad."

For better or for worse, she loved her family. Her father and stepmother were the rocks of her life, the pillars of support that often eased the burdens that ailed her.

She smiled, returning to her work. Okay, so there were more than a couple of things that made her happy.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca grinned, carefully handing the wrapped package to the customer with the receipt. "Good to see you, man."

The young man on the other side nodded his thanks, snagging the handles of the paper bag. "Thanks for the recommendation, Beca. This will be an awesome addition to my set."

Beca smiled, hopping the counter and clapping the budding DJ on the back. "No problem. I liked the mix you gave me last time; I just figured it needed something to switch it up. Can't go wrong with a solid throwback."

He grinned, heading towards the door, nodding to Amy and Jesse as he passed on his way out.

Jesse shuffled over, absently kicking his boss's sneaker as she hopped onto the counter. "Oh, so you'll listen to his stuff, but you won't listen to my band?"

"You know the difference between you and him, don't you?" Beca didn't let Jesse answer, merely continuing. "He's just looking for an opinion. You're looking for a record deal."

"What and he's not?"

Beca laughed. "No. He just wants my opinion on the flow and his song choice. Not everyone wants to be a Guetta, Jesse."

"Oh, c'mon."

"No, really," Beca insisted. "Some people are more than happy in the clubs. They don't see it as a stepping stone to a greater platform."

Jesse sighed, returning to the storeroom. Amy shook her head, hefting a crate of new records to catalogue. Beca chuckled, crossing to the front of the counter. She leaned against the front, crossing her arms with a smile as she took in her baby.

There was a moment of silence before the door flew open with a crash and a whirlwind of red hair and bright blue eyes charged in.

"What the hell, Beca?!"

Beca took a moment to marvel at the vision that was Chloe Beale. Her rich, copper hair flowed like a wave of flame behind her, her lithe, slender body encased in a power-cut skirt suit. The clicking of her Jimmy Choo stilettos echoed like thunder as all sound faded into nothingness in the wake of her entrance.

Ah. There was another thing that truly made Beca happy.

…

Who looked decidedly _un_happy at the moment.

And that unhappiness seemed to be directed at her.

Just as the vision of a tranquil Chloe Beale could be the epitome of loveliness and beauty, the vision of an incensed Chloe Beale was the epitome of fury and vengeance.

Chloe was often underestimated in her given career. It wasn't easy navigating the sharks of the mass media, but Chloe was the type of publicist you wanted in your corner. Her eternally perky and demeanor lulled the ignorant or arrogant into a false sense of security before she brought the hammer down with that beaming smile on her face. This was not a world for the faint of heart, and Chloe Beale played the game effortlessly.

Clearly Beca's lack of response was not pleasing to her russet-maned lady as Chloe stormed through Throwback and grabbed Beca by the open lapel of her Henley shirt. She didn't miss a step as she made a sharp turn towards the stairs, tugging Beca along with her.

Stumbling over her feet in an effort to keep up, the pace of her steps hindered by the unrelenting cadence of Chloe's longer legs and the vice grip the redhead had on her collar.

"Geeze, Chloe! What the hell?"

The moment they eclipsed the threshold of Beca's office, Chloe let go, whirling to bear down on her girlfriend.

"I asked first," she seethed, bright blue eyes narrowed to icy slits.

"And I'd have the answer if I knew what you were talking about!" Beca countered.

"You keep doing this, Beca!" Chloe raged, throwing up her hands, clearly infuriated with whatever Beca had done. Beca wracked her brain, trying to figure out the reason for Chloe's ire, but she came up empty. Then again, maybe the ignorance to her actions equated to something she _hadn't_ done.

Still nonplussed to the situation, Beca shook her head. "Doing what?!"

Chloe's glare intensified and she spoke one name. "Diedrick Hale."

Beca craned her neck forward, waiting for further explanation concerning one of the artists she had discovered, brought up, and referred to Chloe as a client. She shrugged when she didn't receive any. "What about him?"

"It's not about him," Chloe shot back. "It's about his album."

Beca nodded slowly. She was aware of that fact. She hadn't exclusively produced his album, but she had contributed to a couple of tracks. "Yeah, isn't it dropping this upcoming Tuesday?"

"Yes, it is," Chloe concurred. "And the label was so nice in splurging on a launch party yesterday."

"Okay…"

"And the label's president was even nicer in acknowledging that one of their own, Beca Mitchell, was responsible in bringing up such a promising talent." Chloe's face arranged itself into quite the scary glare, and Beca reflexively gulped, waiting for the hammer to fall.

She didn't have to wait long.

Chloe's posture tensed as her voice lowered to a veritable rumble. "Too bad Beca Mitchell wasn't there to accept such platitudes. Surprising since _I_ expressly extended the invitation."

Beca's lips tightened as she glanced down sheepishly. "…Oh…"

Chloe's gaze was pure steel. "Right. Oh."

Beca sighed, scrunching a hand through her hair. "Look, Chloe, it wasn't like I _had_ to be there."

"No, Beca, you didn't have to be there, but have you thought about what it looked like that you weren't there?"

"It looks like I have another artist that needs my attention because I'm in such high demand?" Beca ventured innocently.

Chloe blew out a slow, leaking breath, clearly trying to compose herself and not fly off the handle. "Look, I'm not your publicist, but even I know it's not a good idea to slight the label's president, regardless of the reasoning."

Beca rolled her eyes. "Babe, I was working. I was making the label more money. I'm sure he'd rather I'm doing that."

"It's not about the money!" Chloe answered hotly. "It's about the image and what your presence represents towards the support of the label and the artist."

"What I represent to the label?" Beca echoed. "As in their patsy. Yeah, okay, like I really want to be seen that way. Maybe the president can give me a pat on the head for being such a good minion."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as Chloe surged forward, one finger insistently extended. "Are you serious right now?" she growled. "You act as though you have it so hard. You're successful, Beca! You have the opportunity to become the label's top producer, and yet you seem hell-bent on biting the hand that feeds you from the wrist down."

"Look, I'm not ungrateful," Beca snapped. "I'm very grateful. I'm just tired of them holding me in a chokehold."

Chloe paused, crossing her arms. Her chin tilted upward in a clear challenge, and her eyes narrowed as she readied herself.

"Well, there's a very clear solution to that," she stated plainly, leveling a significant look at Beca. It was a conversation they had many times before, and each time, Chloe pushed for Beca to take action.

The producer's jaw ticked, and she tensed. Her navy eyes belied the turmoil raging within her. She canted her head. "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Beca bristled. Millions of reasons flickered through her brain, but each one seemed feebler than the one prior. "I…" she blew out a breath and deflated. The bluster escaped her. It really came down to one thing, but she would never admit to the prevailing motive aloud. "I just…I can't."

Chloe absorbed that for a moment. Her eyes glittered, and her nostrils flared as she caught the underlying sentiment. She nodded slowly. "I figured you would say that."

Beca's lips pursed, and she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the tension. She knew better than to relax.

Sure enough, Chloe spoke again. "And what about the fact that _I_ wanted you there? That I was the one who sent the invitation."

And there it was.

Beca swallowed hard, eyes plummeting down to the ground. Despite Chloe's hard tone, Beca could sense the redhead was truly hurt at the slight. And she cursed herself for the oversight. Still, any attempt to talk her way out of the situation with empty excuses would not help her in the least.

"I didn't think about that," she admitted through gritted teeth.

Chloe's lips pursed, and she nodded once. Her tense and aggressive posture seemed to deflate. It was as though the revelation had finally wrested the fight from her. "You didn't think about that," she repeated. "Well, I'm sorry that my feelings and wishes are so far down your priority list." Her shoulders straightened, and she shook her head. "And I think I'm tired of that. I can't do this anymore."

Beca's eyebrows drew together at the declaration, and she opened her mouth to respond, but found that words failed her.

"You need to look at yourself, Beca," Chloe stated, and it was clear she was struggling with her emotions. "I'm tired of you sabotaging your relationship with the label. I think you need to really figure out why you're not happy."

"I am happy," Beca insisted.

"Are you really?" Chloe posed. She leveled a significant look at Beca but didn't wait for her answer, merely turned towards the exit and walked out the door.

Beca's mouth fell open as she watched Chloe go. Her head swiveling from side to side, she addressed everyone and no one at the same time.

"What the hell just happened?"

xxx-xxx-xxx

_Like I said, it takes quite a woman to inspire a song. Nothing lasts like music, and some songs can stand the test of time, because the material has the ability to transcend generation after generation._

_ And what's more universal than love? _

_Music can sometimes talk for people when they can't find the words. It has the power to move, to inspire, to evoke. The people immortalized in song have the ability to live forever._

_ Nothing speaks to you like a song lamenting heartbreak. It's like the artist is slinging an arm around your shoulders, patting you on the back, and saying, "No worries, man. I've been there too."_

_Granted, some of these guys are writing songs about, like, supermodels or famous actresses._

_But heartbreak is universal, just like love is universal._

_The honest truth? Straight up?_

_It doesn't really take a special woman to cause someone to experience heartbreak. That's more common than a woman committed to song._

_Doesn't make it hurt any less though._

* * *

**BECA'S TOP 5 SONGS INSPIRED BY WOMEN**

"Layla" (1971) - Derek and the Dominos (E. Clapton and J. Gordon)

"My Sharona" (1979) – The Knack (D. Fieger and B. Averre)

"Athena" (1982) – The Who (P. Townshend)

"Cry Me a River" (2002) – Justin Timberlake (J. Timberlake, T. Mosley, and S. Storch)

"Burn" (2003) – Usher (U. Raymond, J. Dupri, and B.M. Cox)

* * *

_Don't hate us! It had to be done! Don't worry, this is just the beginning to an amazing journey. You're just gonna have to trust us. Hope you guys liked it! As you can see, this is not going to be easy for our girls though. Luckily, Beca and Chloe have some help. As usual, feel free to let us know what you think. _

_Until next time,_

_*ISP_


	2. Chapter 2

_Alright, people! Here we are with the second chapter. I have to say, I love the response I'm getting from you guys. I know it's a bit of a jarring idea that Beca and Chloe start the fic broken up, but it's absolutely and completely necessary for the story._

_On that note as well, I should warn you that Beca is not the Beca of Stone Hard. You are going to see a woman who is not the most mature person emotionally. Because of that, she is going to do things that are going to make you shake your head. I know I'm asking a lot, but you guys are gonna have to trust CJ and I that it is gonna get better. Just as a warning, that point is only going to be solidified in a scene in this chapter. It's not enough to push our M-rating just yet, but just a heads up, the story will eventually get there._

_This one is for certain going to be quite a ride…_

* * *

CHAPTER 2

_ She _dumped_ me._

She_ dumped me._

_ She dumped _me_._

_ I wish I could say that this is a foreign concept for me, that my savvy womanly wiles are strangers to the concept of rejection, that my fragile heart is innocent to the arrows from the cruel quiver of pain and suffering._

_ …Yeah, right._

_ Fortunately, this isn't even the worst of my many breakups over the years. I could easily list five women who have made their callous disregard for my delicate emotions more viscerally memorable._

_ Sorry, Chloe. You haven't even cracked the top five. Maybe you'd slip into the top ten, but there are other breakups that have cut deeper, that resonate stronger, that really _burned_ when I immerse myself in the memory._

_ It started with Shannon McNeil back in high school. I had known I was gay before, but once I saw Shannon McNeil, there was no going back._

_ My first venture to the shark-infested waters of romance was with a girl I can honestly say was the type who made the songs make sense. It's not easy being closeted and even harder being out in high school, but she was the first girl who I thought would be worth coming out in public._

_ So I did._

_ That was my mistake._

_ She dumped me._

_ And two days later, she was dating Darryl Dawson, captain of the lacrosse team. The day after that, she lost her virginity to him. He was everything I wasn't, the type of guy any person would want to be associated with._

_ Talk about your blindside hit-and-run._

_ You know…now that I think about it…_

_ They all were._

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca's mouth opened.

And closed.

She blinked.

Her eyebrows drew together, as she struggled to process the events that had just unfolded.

Her senses seemed to sharpen despite the fog that had overtaken her mind. Chloe's perfume lingered, the click of Chloe's heels echoed in her ears. Vaguely, she registered Jesse and Amy voices, once loud enough to carry to the second floor, fade into shocked silence as Chloe strode past, no break in her stride, no waver in her gait. Beca leaned over the railing, watching Chloe open the door to Throwback and slide through.

The jingling of the bell resonated through the silence, a devastating sort of finality in the auditory signal of departure, deceptively cutting in the delicate cadence.

Confusion was the prevalent emotion, the most prevalent feeling that she could identify. Everything else was white noise.

Unconsciously, she descended the stairs to the main floor as if the action would bring her closer to the redhead who had exited minutes earlier, as though the action would bring some clarity to her jumbled mind. Jesse and Amy watched her warily, unsure of how their boss would react to the latest developments.

Beca turned to her two employees, still in shock. "What the hell just happened?"

Jesse summed up the situation simply and succinctly.

"Dude. Chloe just _dumped_ you."

Beca nodded once.

That's what she thought.

xxx-xxx-xxx

She wasn't sure how long she stood in that position. Time seemed irrelevant. There were pockets of sound that registered vaguely in her hearing, the bustling of movement that crossed her vision, but Beca was aware of all of it. Her mind was set on repeat, the scene a myriad of flashes that all culminated in Chloe walking out the door.

"See, babe? Beca's fine."

Beca blinked as voices preceded the rather boisterous entrance that consisted of her older sister Maggie, her sister's fiancé, and their younger brother Dillon. As the trio charged forward, the focus quite clear towards intent, Maggie's fiancé Garrett Wade waved a hand at Beca, pleading with the eldest Mitchell to ease her pace.

"She's right here, unharmed." Garrett's longer legs staved off Maggie's full-speed charge. "You can calm down now."

He rolled his eyes fondly, sweeping back the sides of his suit jacket to brace his hands on his hips, one hand curved against his LAPD-issued sidearm, the other bracketing the gold badge signifying his status as a detective for the city's finest. Garrett hitched his head towards Beca, appealing to his fiancée. "Since we have ascertained the fact that Beca is not in mortal peril, you clearly don't need police presence. Can I go?"

"Jesus, _Detective_, are you not looking at her?" Maggie scolded him, one hand flapping towards her sister. "She doesn't look fine."

Dillon had been watching the proceedings with humor, his hands shoved in his pockets and a grin on his face as he reveled in Maggie's irrational distress. He looked to Beca and his brow furrowed in a genuine show of concern and piped up from beside his sister. "Yeah, dude. For all her crazy, Mags looks onto something." He nodded to his older sister. "Becs, you alright?"

Beca rubbed the back of her neck, her face falling as the encounter was pushed again to the forefront of her mind. "Chloe just dumped me."

Maggie barely stopped herself from lunging forward to her sister and wrapping Beca up in a comforting hug.

"Harsh," Dillon breathed out. "I told you that was her we saw storming away," he directed to his future brother-in-law, backhanding Garrett lightly on his arm. "There's no mistaking that red hair…Or that awesome ass…Ow!"

Garrett sighed, retracting the hand that just smacked Dillon upside the head, and turned a sympathetic gaze to Beca. "I'm sorry, Mini. Are you alright?"

The use of the nickname, an ode to both her height and her status as the younger sibling, shook Beca from her stupor, and she bared her teeth at Garrett. "Don't call me that."

Garrett smirked. "At least we know you're alive."

Beca jerked back in surprise as her older sister nearly bowled her over. Maggie finally succumbed to the impulse that had seized her from the moment Beca didn't answer her first call. "God, I was so worried! Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

Beca's arms flailed as she fought to maintain her balance, and she patted Maggie gingerly. "Sorry. I was in the studio."

Dillon perked up. "Oooh! Who you working with?"

Beca smiled, shaking her head at her younger brother. "New up-and-comer," she answered. "No one famous yet."

A corner of Dillon's mouth turned upward in that charming Mitchell smile. "He will be once you're done with him."

Beca grinned at her brother's confidence, sobering slightly as it brought back the rest of the events that brought her to her current predicament. Maggie, ever sensitive to her siblings, wrapped Beca up in another embrace. This time, it radiated of Maggie's inherent warmth rather than her frantic anxiety. She cradled Beca gently, pressing a kiss to her sister's hair. Beca relaxed for the first time that day, sagging against her sister's larger frame.

Maggie sighed, laying her head atop Beca's. "What happened?"

Beca huffed out a breath. Wasn't that the question? "…I don't know."

Maggie and Dillon exchanged a look, communicating without words. Maggie tightened her grip, her mouth curving downward in a pensive frown.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Alton Mitchell's prediction came true as Maggie's solution was to take Beca out to lunch to get her mind off of things. Although the Mitchell siblings provided her an escape, it didn't chase the memory of the day.

Garrett had returned to work, departing with a kiss for Maggie and a strong hug to Beca before the Mitchell siblings walked the short trek to one of Beca's favorite diners not too far from Throwback. She was greeted warmly by the wait staff and immediately ushered to what had become her usual table.

Presently, Beca sat at her seat, picking absently at her pasta salad. She was still in shock, unsure of how she should be reacting to the events. Maggie sat beside her younger sister, eyes surveying Beca closely.

Dillon stretched his long frame across his side of the table, carelessly scarfing down a burger. He looked very much like the collegian he was in the gray t-shirt proclaiming his allegiance to his university's athletic department stretched across his broad chest and a cap colored in the Pacific Coast University navy blue adorned with the familiar shield logo perched backwards atop his dark hair.

He fiddled with the white Power Balance bracelet around the wrist of his right hand, leaning forward to brace his forearms on the table.

"So what's the deal, Becs?" he asked. "I thought you and Chloe were solid."

Beca huffed out a sigh and shrugged. "So did I."

Maggie cocked an eyebrow. "So what the hell happened?"

Beca's lips twitched, curving in a frown. "I have no fucking clue."

Maggie's eyebrow inched higher. "Really? Breakups don't come out of nowhere, honey," she mused. "Something sparks it."

Beca grumbled beneath her breath. She ducked her head down, scrunching a hand through her hair. "I…may have blown off Diedrick Hale's release party."

Maggie waved a hand, prompting Beca to continue.

Beca grunted. "And I may have inadvertently slighted the president of the label in the process."

Maggie's lips pursed, and it was clear she expected Beca to continue even further.

Beca let out an exasperated sigh. She cursed relentless older sisters and their innate ability to pick up on the little emotional nuances. "…_And_ she may have personally extended the invitation."

Dillon was the first to respond, cackling and leaning back against the booth. "Oh, that's good. Nice going, dumbass," he chided. He winced as Maggie's foot impacted sharply with his shin, folding forward in pain. "Jesus, Maggie."

The eldest Mitchell leveled a death glare. It was response enough.

"I'm just saying," Dillon grumbled, rubbing his shin. "Not a good move on Beca's part."

"Why didn't you go?"

Beca scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I was working with an artist," she answered.

Maggie's eyes narrowed as she appraised her closely. She could read her sister without even trying, but she didn't have to be intuitively perceptive to know how evasive Beca was being.

"And you thought this artist was more important than Chloe?"

"I thought making the label more money was more important than a publicity appearance," she countered.

"And Chloe didn't factor into this decision?"

Beca's jaw ticked, and she glanced away. Leave it to Maggie to drive straight to the heart of the problem. She didn't have to look at Dillon to see that he was wholly interested in her answer as well. Rolling her shoulders back, she quirked a sardonic smile.

"Not at the time, no."

Maggie hummed, nodding slowly. "So, your girlfriend, whom you claim you love, asks you to be at the release party for an artist – an artist I remember you playing an important part in recruiting to the label – and you decide that it's not worth your while to attend."

Beca deflated, fiddling with her fork. "Okay, it sounds worse when those are the terms you use…"

Maggie huffed an exasperated sigh as she shook her head. "Why do you do this?"

"What?" Beca grunted.

"Why do you insist on sabotaging your relationships?"

"What do you mean?"

Maggie adopted that all-knowing look. "Doesn't this seem a bit familiar to you?"

Beca's confusion was palpable. Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head to convey her ignorance.

"Beca, haven't you noticed that you have never broken up with a girl? That the girl has always been the one to break up with you?"

"C'mon, Maggie." Beca canted her head. "That's ridiculous."

Again, Maggie focused an all-knowing look onto Beca. "Is it? Can you honestly say that you've ever broken up with someone?"

Beca opened her mouth automatically to retort. Then she actually considered that point.

Well, there was…

No, wait.

But, she also…

No. That wasn't one either.

…Huh.

"Whatever," Beca dismissed. "None of them would have worked out anyway." Eager to change the subject, she turned to their brother watching the conversation with interest. "How're you doing, Dill Pickle?"

Dillon shrugged, his brow furrowing slightly. "I'm alright, I guess."

This time, it was Beca and Maggie who exchanged glances. Maggie spoke, eyes narrowing at the youngest Mitchell. "Talk, Dillon."

Dillon sighed, disliking the fact he was now the center of attention. He took off his cap, raking a hand through the dark brown hair that was common between all three Mitchell children before plopping it back on his head. "It's nothing compared to what Becs is dealing with."

Beca shook her head. "Dillon, my problems aren't more important than yours."

Dillon smiled, knowing that Beca said it with the utmost sincerity. "Do you remember that recruit I housed last year?" Dillon asked. "Jason Landry?"

Beca nodded. "Yeah. Some hotshot, five-star quarterback from Pasadena you guys were trying to woo from USC."

"Well, he ended up signing here. Coach said they were going to redshirt him freshman year and give him time to develop."

Maggie nodded. "So…?"

Dillon shook his head. He sighed, fiddling with the strap of his watch, a finger circling the black face. "They didn't redshirt him."

The underlying statement was clear. Dillon took that lack of action to mean they expected the new kid to play, creating a quarterback competition for the upcoming season. Beca laid a hand on Dillon's well-muscled arm, patting comfortingly. "Dillon, that means nothing."

"Then why not redshirt him?" Dillon dropped his head, playing with the discarded straw wrapper on the table. "Coach is high on the guy," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Talks him up all the time, calls him the best athlete he's ever seen, the future of the program."

"Maybe they want him to gain experience behind you," Maggie reasoned.

Dillon blew out a breath. "Maybe. I'm not gonna lie, the guy's good. Faster than I am, stronger arm, quicker…I can't help but feel like they're trying to replace me, though. It's not a good feeling."

Beca snorted, nodding slowly. "I certainly understand that."

Dillon huffed, his mouth curving in that Mitchell half-grin. "Yeah, I guess." He lolled his head back. "You know, this happened my sophomore year," he remarked. "Remember? I was challenging Brent Garrison for the starting spot, and Coach went with Brent because he was a senior. Tie goes to the upperclassmen, he said."

Beca smirked. "Not this time?"

"I don't think so," Dillon sighed. "There's a lot of weight behind Landry. He's a local guy, All-American in high school…I don't think PCU's had a higher touted recruit than him."

Beca sympathized. They all had their things. For Dillon, it was football. Since he was a kid, all he wanted to do was play. He took pride in being the starting quarterback for the Pacific Coast University Argonauts, right up there with the Notre Dames and the Penn States, and the Alabamas of the FBS when it came to storied football programs. He was the captain of that team, the seasoned veteran who was the steady presence, leading them through the rough times of mediocrity and rebuilding to their recent success.

"What are you gonna do?"

Dillon sighed again. "What I always do. Head down, nose to the grind, and just keep moving forward." Dillon dropped his head, removing his cap and running a hand through his tousled dark brown hair before plopping it back, fiddling with the crown. When he looked up again, he had that fire in his resolute gaze. They all had it when that smoldering flame of determination flared within them. His green eyes flashed with resolve. "He may have more talent than I do, but I can make sure he doesn't work harder than I do."

Maggie smiled, reaching across the table and pushing at his head playfully. "Atta boy, Pickle."

They settled back to enjoy their lunch, talking idly about Maggie's wedding preparation. It was nice to talk about something other than their prospective problems. As Beca leaned back, avoiding Maggie's lighthearted swipes as she jokingly asked if she could wear a tux rather than a dress as Maggie's maid of honor, she felt a warmth that eased the angst of her earlier encounter.

That warm feeling was abruptly interrupted as Beca's phone rang shrilly. Beca glanced down at her phone, resisting the urge to groan. "Hang on, it's the label." Accepting the call, Beca raised the device to her ear. "Beca Mitchell."

As the conversation continued, Beca's expression grew stormier and stormier until a scowl made its way to prominence on her features. Maggie and Dillon exchanged a look. There could only be one person on the other end of that phone that could cause such a change in attitude from their sister. Ending the call, Beca tossed her phone on the table, reaching for her jacket.

"The president wants to see me."

Dillon smirked. "Someone's in trouble," he singsonged teasingly.

Beca's mouth mirrored his movement, curving into a rueful, crooked smile. She reached into her pocket and peeled a series of bills, throwing them onto the table to pay for their meal. "I'm always in trouble. The millions upon millions of dollars I bring into the label will never change that."

Dillon reared back, slapping hands with Beca as she threw on her jacket. "Yo, B, any chance I can get an invite to an after party or something?"

Beca rolled her eyes, smacking him upside the head. "Keep dreaming, Dill."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca threw open the doors to the president's office, resisting the urge to throw…something. For a twenty seven year-old music producer who had accrued so much success, the president of Gold Monarch Records seemed to take great pleasure in treating her like an insolent child. And if she heard the name Landon Perry one more time…

She made her way back to the lobby, tense posture and purposeful steps a clear beacon to the people around her to stay away. It was a well-known fact amongst the staff that talking to Beca after a meeting with the label's executives was a very quick path to a vicious tongue-lashing.

She stopped by the receptionist's desk, leaning against the counter. She mustered up a smile for the young man in the seat. "Hey,Quincy."

Quincy nodded with a smile and returned the greeting. "Hey, B."

"Any messages for me?"

"Yeah. I just put some into your box." Quincy rolled over to Beca's inbox, plucking a few papers. He handed them over to Beca with a smile. "Here you go."

Beca flipped through them, frowning at a couple of the senders. A rhythmic clicking caught her attention, and she turned her head to the sound. She followed the Christian Louboutin pumps up the long, slender legs, to the flare of swaying hips, finally settling on the gorgeous face of the label president's personal assistant. She greeted the producer as she approached Quincy, leaning over his desk and passing over a folder with some instructions.

"Beca."

The seductive tone caught her interest, and Beca focused on the ice blue eyes that stood out against the smooth, mocha-colored features. Sarah, her brain vaguely recalled. She was a young woman, gorgeous in that exotic sort of way. Beca remembered the first time she met Sarah and since that first day, the other woman wasn't shy about making her interest known.

"Hey, Sarah," she returned.

Sarah shot out a smile. "You recuperate from your encounter with the boss?"

Beca huffed out a snort. Her mind went back to the meeting she had just exited. It was equal parts frustrating and irritating.

_Your records have outsold everyone in the business…"_

_You're the hottest producer out there…_

…_Oh, but stop trying to break the mold Gold Monarch has laid out for you._

She shrugged slightly, choosing to just dismiss the question without much more elaboration. Who knew what Sarah would say to her boss despite the obvious attraction the other woman was practically emanating. "It is what it is," she brushed off. "Nothing new, you know?"

Sarah propped a hand on her hip, directing a playful look to the smaller woman. "Aren't you getting tired of getting called into the principal's office?" she teased.

Again, Beca shrugged. "I figure I should make things interesting," she remarked. "I'm not a puppet, and I certainly can think for myself. Besides, it's pretty clear my style works."

Sarah inclined her head. "Yeah," she agreed. "No one can deny your style doesn't sell…in many ways." She sidled up beside Beca, her intent clear. "Many, many ways."

Beca glanced up into the ice blue eyes that surveyed her with clear interest. She smirked, reclining against the desk. "I think it's more my talent that can't be denied," she corrected. False modesty be damned.

"Well, your talent sounds like it you got a tongue-lashing," Sarah commented humorously.

Beca chuckled. "Just another day. I'll recover soon enough."

"Maybe I can help?"

Beca's eyebrow arched upward, but she didn't answer. She merely studied the other woman. Sarah slowly and deliberately rolled her body upward, the movement highlighting the dips and curves of the physical manifestation of her womanly wiles. She winked, sashaying away. She shot Beca one more meaningful look, entering the women's restroom in the hallway.

Beca felt her ego surge with the implication. Hey, free game. She had just been dumped. Quite callously too. She turned to Quincy. "I'd be stupid if I didn't follow, right?"

Quincy's eyes widened. "Girl, I will frog-march you there myself if you don't get your ass in that bathroom."

Beca smirked, squaring her shoulders.

Alrighty then.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Beca squeezed her eyes tight, concentrating on the task at hand. She kept the rhythm, despite her mind being elsewhere, the rampant thoughts unable to break her tempo. Her leather jacket and zip-up sweatshirt were on the floor, leaving her in just her Henley that Sarah had a hand shoved under and curved against her breast.

God, Sarah was hot, and damn, did she feel good. But even in the midst of their hot tryst, Beca couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong.

The timbre of the voice breathing heavily in her ear was higher in pitch, the cadence of the moans was off. Her face was buried into a mocha-colored neck, the incorrect shade; much too dark, and the smell wasn't a delicate, flowery scent, rather something sharp and spicy.

She pressed her face further in Sarah's neck, refusing to look into her eyes, knowing that the one she would be greeted with wasn't the face she wanted to see. Her hips thrust harder, guiding her hand deeper as the other hand palmed Sarah's thigh, driving the personal assistant harder against the stall door.

The rhythmic slap of skin on skin was the only sound that accompanied Sarah's whimpers. She could feel the wetness surround her fingers, muscles clenching tightly around the digits in a vice grip. Sarah was enraptured, drowning in her pleasure, and Beca could feel her reaching climax.

Release came in a sharp, single cry.

That wasn't right, either. She heard a different orgasmic indicator. It was like a crescendo, building in intensity until it spilled over in a final signal of pinnacle bliss.

She felt the kisses pressed to her face and schooled her features.

"You're just as amazing as advertised."

Beca mustered up a cocky smirk, canting her head slightly. "Well, you know, reputations tend to come by honestly."

"I gotta get back to work. They'll wonder where I am."

Beca smirked, stepping back. Sarah sidled by her, careful to initiate as much contact as possible before she exited with a coy glance over her shoulder.

Beca watched her go, her smirk wavering on her face. She let out a deep breath, swallowing hard.

While Sarah may have reached her climax – quite ferociously; she could pat herself on the back for that one – Beca could hardly say the same for her own condition.

Physically, she felt everything. The tingles from the contact of skin on skin, the sharp sting on her neck where she had been bitten in an effort to muffle the sounds of pleasure, the wetness on her fingertips from Sarah's arousal.

But emotionally…

Nothing.

She had felt absolutely nothing.

The ghost of red hair and bright blue eyes lingered in the consciousness of her mind, clenching her libido in a vice grip that she couldn't escape.

But it was more than that.

There was no emotion, no connection.

It had been enough before.

It wasn't enough now.

Beca exited the stall, her movements methodical, almost mechanical as she washed her hands and left the bathroom. She made her way to the elevators, entering the car. As she descended down to the ground floor of the building, leaning against the rail, eyes fixated to the ceiling, Beca struggled to absorb exactly what had just happened, and when she pushed open the doors to the building, Beca finally let her façade crumble, and she hung her head.

Taking deep breaths, she gathered herself, pushing away the stifling feeling of remorse and shame creeping its way into her consciousness. It had been an impulsive moment of weakness, an almost out-of-body experience, fueled by her unconscious desire to recapture some of the self-esteem and confidence shattered with Chloe's rejection. Now that she had truly allowed her consciousness to rule her actions, the guilt threatened to overwhelm her.

Throwing her hood over her head and sliding sunglasses over her eyes, she trudged down the street and towards her car.

xxx-xxx-xxx

On the other side of the city, Chloe Beale slid out of a cab, tipping the driver and shouldering her briefcase. She nodded at the doorman as he opened the door for her with a tip of the cap and a small bow. The small restaurant was upscale and sophisticated, catering to the executives and other high end suits that gravitated in from the surrounding buildings. She certainly wasn't out of place amidst the business suits and shiny designer shoes of the other patrons.

Chloe glided through the restaurant, heedless of the eyes from men and women following in her wake. She reached her table, leaning in to press a kiss to the blonde woman standing to greet her.

Chloe descended down in her chair, dropping her briefcase beside her. She exhaled slowly, shooting a tired smile to her best friend.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," she murmured, smiling up at the waiter as he placed a vodka-cranberry cocktail in front of her. She took a drink, propping her chin in her fist.

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, a small smile curving her lips. "So bribing you with alcohol is the only way to get you in front of me?" She chuckled. "I see how high I rank on your list of priorities."

Chloe chuckled. "I'm sorry I haven't been more attentive to you," she apologized. "Who would have thought Aubrey Posen was so high maintenance."

Aubrey smirked, rolling her eyes. "Well, I need my Chloe time." She grinned. "After all, everyone else gets a piece of you."

Chloe shot her a pointed look. "I could say the same for you, Miss Posen."

Aubrey hummed her agreement, not bothering with false modesty. "Well, if it means that we're in high demand, I certainly don't mind."

Chloe couldn't argue with that. Aubrey Posen commanded her chosen career in the same vein as Chloe did in the world of media PR. If an artist wanted to book a gig, Aubrey was the person you wanted in her corner. There was no talent agent in Los Angeles more efficient and effective.

Aubrey reclined back in her chair, crossing long legs as she regarded her best friend closely. "So…word around is that you dumped a certain alt-girl producer."

Chloe cocked her head. She extended her arm, peering down at the face of her watch. "That only took you one minute and fifty-two seconds," she teased. Her expression sobered, and she nodded. "I did."

Aubrey arched an elegant eyebrow. It was a surprise. For as much as she wasn't quite sold on Beca Mitchell, she couldn't deny the diminutive producer made her best friend happy. Or so she thought. "What happened?"

Chloe flicked a hand through her hair. "She blew me off."

"Diedrick Hale's release party," Aubrey inferred.

Chloe nodded, swallowing hard. It was clear their breakup was still raw. "She claimed her time was better utilized with another artist making more money for the label."

Aubrey's business sense saw the rationale. "Well, she's not wrong," she commented.

"No," Chloe conceded. "But you and I both know she did it the slight the president."

Aubrey snorted. "Yes, she seems wholly intent on burning all bridges." She sighed. "I just don't understand her. For someone so successful and so intuitive to the politics within the industry, she seems to intently resist all forms of authority being lorded over her."

Chloe smiled indulgently. "You know Beca," she chided. "She's always been the champion of the rebellious misfits. Success and fame isn't going to change that."

"How'd she take it?"

Chloe pursed her lips, and she shook her head. "I didn't stay long enough to find out. I think I shocked her. But it's over. We're done."

Aubrey frowned. There was a hesitancy in Chloe's voice. She could tell the conviction was lacking in her tone. She caught Chloe's expression, the regret in her pinched features. The redhead looked away, and Aubrey cocked an eyebrow.

"You're still in love with her, aren't you?"

Chloe smiled sadly. "Of course I'm still in love with Beca. When she's not driving me up the wall, she's passionate, she's romantic, and she's incredible in bed…"

Aubrey rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, she had been the recipient of Chloe's recounts of Beca's sexual prowess. According to Chloe, their relationship had never lacked in physical contact. She squinched her eyes shut, waving a hand through the air, shaking her head insistently. "Stop. Don't go any further. I get the point."

"Sorry." Chloe ducked her head, frowning to herself, letting out a deep breath. "I just…I'm just…I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Chloe gestured vaguely. "Beca's not happy," Chloe admitted. "And I don't know what to do to make her happy."

Aubrey's expression softened at her best friend's distress. "Is that really your job though? Beca's a grown woman. You're not responsible for her happiness."

"No," Chloe acknowledged. "But I'm tired of thinking as though I'm not enough. Even when she's with me…I feel…I don't…" she sighed, her head lolling back against her chair. "I have this feeling like she's not all there, you know? Like she's not entirely _with_ me, maybe like she's not giving me all of herself."

Aubrey nodded. "And you're tired of playing second-place to an aberration that you can't even identify?"

Chloe smiled ruefully. "Exactly."

"So that's it?" Aubrey asked. "After all this time, you guys are just…_over_?"

Chloe sighed. "Well, I seriously doubt it'll that easy," she admitted. "There's a lot of history and a lot of feelings still. But, you know Beca." Chloe smiled sadly. "She has absolutely no problem bouncing back."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Aubrey drawled. "You're not an easy person to get over."

"Maybe not," Chloe sighed. "But apparently I'm easy enough to let go."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Back at her apartment, Beca laid out on the rug in her living room, spread eagle and staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. She drew in a deep breath, lolling her head to the side. Chloe's things were thrown in a bunch of garbage bags and lying by the door, waiting for the redhead to come pick them up. She had come home to that, and it was clear the redhead had been around to pack up the things she had accumulated through the years she and Beca dated.

Four years.

Four years unraveled in a seemingly innocuous moment.

A moment she had yet to truly understand.

She felt as though someone had stolen all the oxygen from her lungs and she was operating on limited air.

She felt like arrows had punctured holes in her heart and were bleeding her dry.

As though he felt her distress, her dutiful companion sidled up to her. She met luminous blue eyes imploring down from a furry face. He dropped his head down, nuzzling against her with a rumbling purr. She sighed as he clambered onto her chest. Absorbing the comfort he offered, she absently scratched distractedly at his soft, light gray fur.

"Aw, thanks, Smokey Robinson. You'll never leave me, will you?"

Smokey's entire little body vibrated with the force of his purr, and his paws kneaded at her sweatshirt in obvious concurrence. Beca sighed again, cradling her kitten against her chest.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Beca?"

Beca's head lifted up as Stacie let herself in, laden down with bags of groceries. Stacie's eyes automatically went to Beca on the living room rug, her normal brooding spot. Shifting her grip on the bags, she made her way to the kitchen, setting her boon on the island in the center. Beca rumbled a barely intelligible greeting, choosing to continue wallowing in her indignation and misery.

"Hi to you too," Stacie drawled, sorting through the various bags. She glanced down as Smokey wound around her legs, nuzzling her calf in greeting. "And hello to you, Mr. Smokey." She glanced over at her best friend still sprawled on the rug. "Hayles is coming over after her shift. I figured seeing her in the uniform would make you feel better."

Beca grunted, her feet wiggling absently as her eyes strayed back to her ceiling.

Stacie's lips curled into a sympathetic smile. "How're you doing?"

"Peachy," came the derisive snort.

Stacie rolled her eyes. "And we wonder how you find yourself in these positions."

Beca sighed. "Sorry, Stace." She ran a hand over her hair, ruffling the unkempt brunette strands.

Stacie chuckled, crouching down beside Beca and dropping a kiss to the top of her head as she handed the erstwhile brunette a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack. "No biggie, babe. I've become immune to the Beca Mitchell idiosyncrasies."

Beca huffed a rueful laugh. "That doesn't sound too encouraging."

"Don't worry, Mitchell," Stacie assured her, stretching out beside Beca. "I still love you."

"If you say so," Beca snorted, stretching against the rug.

"Yo, Mitchell!" Both jumped as two strong thumps resonated on her closed door. "Open up!"

Stacie rolled her eyes, hefting up off the floor to head to the door. She yanked at the handle, shooting a pointed look to the woman on the other side before retreated back to the kitchen. "Dork. Why the hell didn't you just use your key? People might think Beca's in trouble."

Hayley Wade sidled through the doorway, her hand braced on her gun belt. Garrett's younger sister had followed her brother into law enforcement to also become one of LAPD's finest. Not for the first time, Beca marveled at how well her ex-girlfriend filled out her uniform.

Hayley arched an eyebrow. "Right," she drawled, glancing around Beca's multi-level penthouse apartment that spanned the entire top floor of her high rise. "Because Beca's multiple neighbors would totally have issue with it." She glanced over to the woman in question, sprawled out on the floor, still nursing her Jack and Coke.

"Yikes, Becs, you look like shit."

"You get dumped by your girlfriend and see how flawless you look," Beca grunted back.

"Chloe dumped you?" Hayley's brows drew together as she crouched down, petting Smokey Robinson in greeting.

"You don't talk to your brother, do you?"

"No," Hayley shook her head. "We don't typically cross paths when I'm walking the beat. Why?"

"Cuz he saw the aftermath. I figured he would pass the word along." Beca sighed. "Maggie went all crazy older sister and came to Throwback looking for me. She brought Garrett and Dillon and they all caught me right after Chloe left."

"Ouch," Hayley lamented. There was a beat before she asked the blatantly obvious follow-up question. "What the hell did you do?"

Apparently, the question wasn't as obvious to Beca as she surged upward indignantly. "What makes you think it's my fault?" she challenged.

Hayley leveled a dry look at the music producer. "First-hand experience."

Stacie shrugged her concurrence. "Can't say I disagree."

Beca snorted. "This is what I get for having two ex-girlfriends as my best friends."

Hayley chuckled and disappeared into one of the spare rooms where Beca kept her and Stacie's extra clothes. "You're the one who couldn't shake us, Beca," she tossed back over her shoulder.

"I'd like to think it was a coerced arrangement," Beca drawled. "And I've been paying for it every since."

Hayley spoke over the sound of Velcro disengaging and buckles releasing as she divested herself from the uniform and accoutrements of her station. "Your life is better with me and Stacie in it," she stated plainly. "Recognize it."

Beca sighed, reaching out to cuddle Smokey Robinson closer, scratching aimlessly at his fur and seeking comfort from the one person who was always on her side. There certainly wasn't any arguing when Stacie and Hayley teamed up. And it certainly wasn't as though she could argue with the fact. Hayley reappeared in the living room, a pair of LAPD sweatpants slung low over her hips and a sports bra molding to her torso. Beca's eyes raked over the slender, athletic build, scanning over the leanly muscled biceps and chiseled abdominals before Hayley threw a cut-off t-shirt highlighting The Clash over her head.

She moved to the kitchen, accepting a Jack and Coke from Stacie, thanking her with a kiss to the cheek. Moving to the living room, Stacie propped herself against the foot of the couch while Hayley wedged herself in the corner.

Hayley took a sip of her drink, propping her head on her fist. "So what happened?"

Beca took a deep breath, recounting the story, the confusion clear in her tone and posture. She blew out a deep breath.

"She just…she dumped me. And it was just like…she didn't even think about it. She just told me it was over." Beca's jaw clenched. "She said I needed to take a look at myself and figure out how to be happy."

Hayley and Stacie exchanged a look over Beca's head. While the words were different, the message seemed eerily familiar. Stacie sighed, throwing an arm around Beca's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

Beca sighed. "Yeah, whatever."

Stacie shook her head. "You don't get to do that, Beca," she chastised. "We're not just anyone. You don't just get to brush this off."

Beca grunted, and her posture turned acquiescent. "I don't even know how it got to this," she admitted.

"Well, it was definitely a bad call not going to the launch party," Hayley began. "Especially since Chloe invited you personally."

"Yeah," Beca grumbled.

"It was probably the last straw," Stacie remarked.

"How was I supposed to know it was the last straw when I had no idea I had wasted the other straws?"

"Look, Beca, we know you're not an inconsiderate person." Hayley's eyes met Beca's strongly. "Was slighting your boss really worth hurting Chloe?"

Beca swallowed hard. She ducked her head. "I didn't even think of Chloe."

Stacie hummed. Inwardly, she sighed. Sometimes Beca was truly the most oblivious person. "Good going."

"Whatever," Beca grunted. "She wants it to be over? Fine." Beca canted her head, the irritation clear. "I don't need her. We're over."

Hayley and Stacie exchanged another look, this one full of worry. That tone was never good. It screamed of Beca in her most self-destructive mode. History served tried and true when Beca got that glimmer in her eye and that set to her jaw. While Beca Mitchell the producer could evoke and portray the deepest of emotions through the simple process of creating a captivating rhythm and beat, Beca Mitchell the person often had the emotional wherewithal of a single-celled organism.

Needless to say, Beca post-breakup was never a pretty sight.

But it was her way of dealing, her way of disconnecting and wiping the slate clean to pursue another interest.

…Even if it never resulted in the most prudent of actions.

Even now, they could tell that Beca was already headlong into her descent to disparity as she fidgeted, refusing to make eye contact. Stacie narrowed her eyes.

"What did you do?"

Beca played innocent, shrugging negligently. "Dunno what you're talking about."

"You're squiggly," Hayley stated plainly. "Dude, we know you better than that. You've either done something that's made you guilty or you're guilty because you've done something."

"Weird circular reasoning," Stacie remarked.

Hayley shrugged in response.

They both looked to Beca, waiting for her answer. For the second time that day, Beca cursed her highly intuitive and ridiculously perceptive social circle. She sighed. "I may have done Sarah in the bathroom at Gold Monarch."

Hayley's jaw dropped. "You fucked the president's personal assistant?"

"Yeah." Beca drew out the word in a long exhale.

Stacie leaned forward. "And…? How do you feel?"

Beca didn't answer verbally. She simply shrugged.

Stacie shook her head slowly. There was something lingering, she could tell, and she knew Hayley could as well. Still, pushing Beca would only make her retreat, so Stacie kept the conversation light. "Wow," she drawled. "You finally got hooked. She's been chasing you since you met her."

"Back in the game, I guess," Beca quipped blithely. "My welcome back into bachelorette life." She smirked. "I was always good at being single, you know?"

Hayley and Stacie exchanged one final look. It was one of utter trepidation. Mentally, both girls braced themselves. They predicted a messy clean-up on the horizon.

It always was.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Jesse and Amy sat on the front counter of Throwback, eyes fixated across the room. Over by the bar, an interesting exchange was unfolding before their very eyes.

Jesse shook his head. "No way," he insisted. "There's no way."

"I dunno, Spielberg," Amy drawled. "That right there is a bitch in heat."

Beca was leaning casually against the bar. For someone so small in stature, she had a way about her that could fill the room with her presence. Her lips were curved upward in a smirk, and her navy blue eyes were narrowed slightly in a seductive, smoldering stare.

It shouldn't work.

It was too cheesy, too hokey.

And yet it was.

The tall blonde was completely enthralled by the music producer, hanging on to her every word. From the moment the blonde had entered the shop, it was like a predator locking in on its prey. Beca had zeroed in on the woman, greeting her as she walked through the store but had kept her distance, playing coy and slightly detached.

Immediately, Amy and Jesse had started taking bets, throwing their opinions on the outcome. Jesse was adamant to the fact that Beca would not succeed in her gradual yet shockingly smooth seduction. Amy, on the other hand, was confident in the seemingly inexplicable charm of their gruff and prickly boss.

They couldn't hear what was being said, but it was clear in the blonde's posture and constant impulse to touch Beca that there was a good amount of interest. They could see Beca smirk, saying something to the blonde. The woman leaned in, coquettish expression decorating her unfairly gorgeous features, lip captured between straight, white teeth. She sidled closer to Beca, leaning across the brunette to grab one of the cardboard coffee sleeves and a Sharpie, making sure her breasts brushed against Beca. With deliberate movements, she wrote down her number, sliding it over to Beca. The blonde leaned down, whispering something in Beca's ear, lips brushing sensually against the lobe. With a flirtatious wink, she turned, sauntering across the store and out the door, throwing one more smile to the producer.

Beca watched her go, a predatory glimmer dominating the navy blue gaze. Her smirk widened as she glanced down to the coffee sleeve, sliding the cardboard into the back pocket of her jeans. Pushing off the counter, she made her way past her employees towards the sound system.

"Looks like someone's over her heartbreak," Jesse grumbled, slapping a twenty into Amy's palm.

That clearly was the wrong thing to say as Beca tensed, stormy navy eyes sparkling with ire snapping in his direction. Jesse gulped, his shoulders rising slightly to his ears. Beca's gaze narrowed.

"Heartbreak?" Beca scoffed. "Please." She bristled, canting her head in clear defiance. "Chloe Beale does not warrant feelings of heartbreak."

"Whoa…" Amy muttered, watching Beca storm away to her office, then out the door to her next recording session. She turned to Jesse, delivering a solid punch to his arm. "Good show, you drongo. Way to make the boss spit the dummy."

Jesse spread his arms as Amy followed suit, disappearing into the depths of the store. His face reflected his confusion. "What did I do?" He lowered his arms, shaking his head. "And what the hell did she say?"

xxx-xxx-xxx

The atmosphere in the studio was even tenser than usual. From the moment she had walked into the booth, Beca's demeanor screamed her aggravation. She was terse and easily irritable, her movements short and curt. Her tone never wavered, but it had the underlying bite of her irritability. One would never accuse Beca of anything less than the utmost standard of professionalism. Still, it seemed as though the normally unflappable producer was fraying at the edges.

The unfortunate subject of her ire was the female R&B artist known simply as Cynthia Rose. She was semi-successful, a budding star with a raspy voice and amazing stage presence who was looking a breakout single to push her into the realm of the elite. Normally, she and Beca worked well together, Cynthia serving predominantly as a songwriter, and their history featuring multiple collaborations for other artists. This was the first time they had worked together for Cynthia Rose's album.

"No, no, no!" Beca pushed herself back from the mixing board throwing her arms in the air. She whirled on one of the sound engineers.

"Do not tell me you touched the levels. There's a reason I set them the way I did. You know what sound we're trying to go for here!"

He held up his hands in clear surrender, knowing that now was not the right time to argue with a clearly irrational Beca. To retort would only rile her up even further and she would descend even deeper into whatever funk was currently stifling any and all interpersonal skills she possessed.

It had been a difficult recording session to say the least, and Beca was tougher than usual. Nothing seemed to satisfy her, and it was clear everyone was fraying at the edges.

Beca rose from her chair, cutting the tape with a sharp snap of her wrist. She glared at Cynthia Rose through the glass.

"CR, I'm telling you straight up. You gotta give it some break. You're ascending too quick to the high note. You have to give it some sort of break otherwise there's no drama to play off of."

Cynthia's posture reflected her own frustration as she squared up to Beca from the other side of the glass. "Beca, and _I'm _telling _you_, that's not what I was thinking when I wrote it," she shot back. "It's meant to build steadily to the crescendo. To break up the build breaks the tempo, and it's gonna take away from the climax."

As they continued to argue, Elena sidled through the door to the sound room, responding to a 911 text from Cynthia Rose.

"CR, I'm the goddamn producer of this album," Beca growled. "I know what it will need to make it fucking platinum. You may have written amazing songs for other artists, but now your ass is on the line, and we don't know even know if you have what it takes or even–"

Elena's eyes got wide, and she intervened before Beca crossed a line she couldn't erase and permanently damage a good friendship.

"Hey!" She surged upward, grabbing Beca by the arm. She forcefully pushed the smaller brunette out of the sound room and out into the hallway. "Beca, take a walk."

Beca huffed and complied, storming through the hallway and turning the corner to move deeper into the building.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Her current location was empty as Beca stewed, arms crossed over her chest. She ran a hand over her face, propping her forehead on a closed fist. She banged her head on her fist, muttering angrily to herself.

"Christ, Mitchell. Forgot to pop a Midol before coming in?"

She groaned. Awesome. The absolute last person she wanted to see. Beca lofted her head, meeting the mocking, squinty-eyed gaze of Landon Perry.

Objectively speaking, he was a good-looking guy. Artists, especially female ones, had a difficult time seeing past the flowing ebony locks, piercing dark eyes, and chiseled jawline to uncover the mediocre talent and true nature of the handsome producer.

From personal experience, Landon Perry was a douchebag, and Beca certainly wasn't shy to share her opinion about what she thought of her rival.

For the people employed at their record label, everyone knew an artist wanted to work with either Landon or Beca. The shiny suits preferred Landon. He was safe, he was reliable…and he did everything the label brass told him to do.

The artists, however, preferred Beca. She was a maverick, comfortable with taking the risks that ensured a hit record, even if it differed with the sound the label sought to produce.

"Keep walking, Perry," Beca growled.

"A bit overwhelmed? Can't hack it with the big boys?" Landon shook his head, the smirk clear on his face. "No, I get it. It's a shame though."

Beca couldn't help but laugh. Nothing could be further than the truth. "You're sure you're not talking about yourself?" She jabbed a thumb into her breastbone. "Because I'm hacking it just fine."

She really disliked Landon Perry, and her current aggravation was fueling her aggression towards him. Normally, she wouldn't let him bait her like this. But it seemed as though everything was raining down on her at once. Emotions once kept in check, were running rampant in a manner that she wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel.

Beca chuckled derisively. "You know, for the all the effort you've put in being the label's bitch, you're not doing so well in the popular or critical vote. How about you talk to me when you've won a Grammy?" Beca held out a hand. "Let's not even shoot that high. You can talk to me when one of your records gets certified gold."

Landon reddened, and he hitched his chin in defiance. "Trophies don't mean anything."

Beca inclined her head sardonically. It was clear he certainly didn't believe that notion even if he claimed otherwise. "Right." Beca drawled. "Only people who don't have them say stuff like that." Her smirk widened, hands out in supplication. "I mean, you're right. It's absolutely ludicrous that an artist would pick a producer who has won Grammy awards," she gestured to herself before turning the gesture on him, "over one who hasn't. How's that fared for you, by the way?"

Landon bristled. "Trophies or not, pretty soon, the label's gonna get tired of your shit," he commented. "They'll decide that your rebellious schtick is old, and they'll drop you. Then no one will want to work with you."

"Maybe," Beca agreed. "But at least when they do, I can still say I've accomplished more than you have." Her lips split into a derisive smirk. "So that'll be something."

She was getting to him. It was plain to see in the fact that his carriage tensed, and he looked away. That was her dagger; even with all the preferences afforded to Landon, he still had not managed to gain recognition in the ways Beca had. Things like Grammys, AMAs, and Billboard awards had escaped his grasp, most of the time to land in Beca's. She seemed to thrive on defying the label, and the critics and public ate it up. They loved the reputation she had accrued as a maverick amongst producers.

Landon advanced on her, eyes glinting intently. "I'll have my day, Mitchell," he promised. "And when I do, I am going to make sure I fully enjoy rubbing your face in it."

Beca smirked. "You're gonna have to have your day many times over to even register on my 'I give a fuck' radar, Landon. But if it makes you feel better, you can hold onto that."

Landon growled, bristling. He was about to retort when another voice joined their conversation.

"Is there a problem here?"

Landon straightened, flashing a charming smile to their new company. "No, Elena, of course not. Just a friendly conversation between colleagues."

Elena nodded slowly, nonplussed. "Whatever you say, Landon." She leveled a meaningful glare to the other producer. "I'm sure you have an artist waiting for you," she drawled. "I don't think it would be a good idea to keep him waiting any longer."

Landon cleared his throat. "Of course." He threw out a sickening smile. "You ladies have a good session."

Elena waited until Landon had disappeared before she tugged her client into an empty conference room. Elena whirled on Beca, a finger digging into her chest. "What the hell?"

Beca crossed her arms, leaning against the table. "What?" She scowled petulantly.

"Beca…" There was a clear warning in Elena's tone.

"I was just doing my job," Beca protested. "This is CR's first album and–"

"No, no, no, no," Elena snapped, cutting Beca off with a slash of her hand. "Don't give me that. That was not you doing your job. That was something else."

Beca tossed her head, breath whooshing out in exasperation. "Elena, c'mon. Don't make this into something it isn't."

"No, you come on, Beca." Elena leveled a stern glare at her client. "I am not stupid, and I know you a hell of a lot better than that. What is going on?"

Beca shook her head stubbornly. "Nothing."

"_No_," she insisted, rounding on the smaller brunette. "I'm not up for taking your bullshit today. You're going to tell me what the hell is going on." She poked a finger into Beca's chest. "Talk."

Beca's lips tightened, and she ducked her head. "Chloe broke up with me."

Elena's eyebrows drew together in concern. "Oh, geeze. Beca, I'm sorry."

"I'm fine," Beca answered blithely. She waved a hand. "I just had a rough day, and it compounded with everything going on."

Elena's expression shifted to mirror her dubious demeanor.

"Seriously, Elena, don't worry. Chloe doesn't even make my top five."

Elena hummed her dissent. "So why does it seem like you're more irritable than usual. I know you don't truly think Cynthia Rose is a hopeless case."

Beca shook her head. "Of course I don't." She closed her eyes, hanging her head. Inwardly, she cursed herself for losing control the way she did. Battling her emotions, Beca clenched her jaw, glancing away. "I'm still…" she cleared her throat. "Chloe's…she was such a prominent part of my life. I'm still getting used to the idea of…you know…" She waved a hand. "Dealing with not having her around and stuff."

Elena's tone and expression was skeptical. "Uh-huh."

Beca bristled at the implication, and she adopted a blithe, dismissive posture. "Look, I may be adjusting to stuff, but it's not like I'm still hung up on her or anything," she protested. "Trust me, Chloe Beale is not on my radar." Beca puffed herself up in a blatant show of bravado. "I'm sure it'll be no problem getting over her."

Elena eyed her closely. "Are you sure about that?"

Beca swallowed hard, dropping her eyes. It was clear she hadn't fooled Elena in the slightest. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had fooled herself.

That was the question, wasn't it?

xxx-xxx-xxx

_Romance. _

_ It's tricky. It's hard. _

_Anyone who tells you they've got a fail-safe plan for wooing women is full of shit. _

_You would think since that first devastating breakup with Shannon that things have gotten better, that I've gained some sort of clarity towards my understanding of women, that I've cultivated some sense or instinct towards the subtle nuances of the female human condition. _

_ Not really._

_ If anything, I might have gotten dumber towards the whole thing. _

_And I've noticed a pattern. Since that first breakup, all my romantic ventures that have imploded seem to have some element of the debacle with Shannon McNeil._

_ You'd think I'd learned by now._

_ You'd think somehow I'd get it._

_ Then I remember a truth._

_And the truth is that women are infinitely complicated creatures. Not even one of their own can understand them._

_ Maybe that's my problem._

* * *

**BECA'S TOP 5 BREAKUPS** _(in chronological order)_

Shannon McNeil

Stacie Conrad

Vivienne Blake

Hayley Wade

Alexandra Lind

* * *

_And there we go! Again, this is going to be a rough journey, but it's one where Beca really does have to grow up. And as she continues through this fic, she is going to learn a lot of things about herself. Thanks so much for sticking with us though! As usual, feel free to let us know what you think here, on Tumblr, or on Twitter. We always look forward to hearing from you guys!_

_Until next time,_

_*ISP_


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